


pause and rewind, rinse and repeat

by fkaps2point0



Series: i don’t know how to be happy, but if i'm with you i think it’s possible [3]
Category: Start-Up (Korea TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkaps2point0/pseuds/fkaps2point0
Summary: in which three years was enough time to change a relationshipor: Ji-pyeong, Dal-mi, and the three years it takes for them to be whole again, individually and together
Relationships: Han Ji Pyeong/Seo Dal Mi
Series: i don’t know how to be happy, but if i'm with you i think it’s possible [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009962
Comments: 50
Kudos: 153
Collections: Good Boy’s Happy Endings





	pause and rewind, rinse and repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Editing is an ongoing process, even after publishing lol
> 
> Timeline on this is a bit of a mess, but i hope it’s cohesive enough to make sense!

> _ I may climb perhaps to no great heights, but I will climb alone. _

Cyrano de Bergerac

* * *

** (i.) **

Here’s what Ji-pyeong knows.

He knows how to discern the good people from the bad, after learning early on during his years spent at the orphanage which of the older kids to avoid in the hallways and cafeteria, versus the ones who would offer him the snacks they’d been hoarding for themselves when he missed breakfast because he’d been studying late the night before. 

Through years of experience in a cutthroat industry, he's learned how to put his personal feelings aside and judge a risky business model or unique entrepreneur for what they were actually worth beyond the crafted image they hid behind. He's developed a second sense with regards to successful investments, where to look for them and how much he needs to contribute monetarily in order to maximize his profit. Beyond that, he knows who to talk to and when to put his dignity aside in order to pave a path straight up the corporate ladder, to where he is now and where he plans on eventually ending up.

And, perhaps most importantly, he's mastered the art of being alone. How to look out for himself, because clearly no one else would. A harsh lesson he was subject to as a child, one whose outcome he’d carried with him into adulthood, save for a short period in time as a young teenager, when he briefly thought himself capable of sustaining a relationship he was so afraid of losing before it could further develop. 

The list he of things he doesn’t know, while easily summarized using a singular bullet point, may as well have been a series of novels spanning multiple volumes.

Seo Dal-mi. One name, capital letters, bolded and frustratingly unsolvable. Rarely had he come across an equation that he couldn’t figure out, a business blunder he wasn’t able to salvage. It started off with a series of letters and seemingly, out of nowhere, ended up here. 

She was the hardest question in his Class 3 calculus textbook, disguised under consistent professionalism and the pretense of friendship he longer wanted to remain stagnant. 

He wants more, a nd when he finally admits it to himself, his first instinct is guilt. Not used to wanting anything beyond the scraps he’d managed to pick up along the way, it felt foreign. He could deal with being selfish, but not over other people. Over mere possibilities rather than guarantees rooted in fact and proven historical data.

So, he would be lying if he said a tiny part of him didn’t feel slightly exonerated when Nam Do-san left for San Francisco. That, as petty and childish and ridiculously pathetic as it sounds, he could finally be selfish under circumstances that would otherwise be deemed as a lost cause. 

But then, of course, came her. And he almost wishes the object of her affections would never have disappeared off the face of the earth if it meant the tears that formed in her eyes every time he was brought up would cease to surface again. It's when Ji-pyeong realizes, that with his departure, he'd left behind a large, gaping, Nam Do-san shaped hole in Dal-mi's life, irreperable and beyond anything he could help her forget. For once, he wouldn't be able to assist her. He'd have to step aside, and let her fix things on her own. 

It’s not that Ji-pyeong doesn’t like her. If he’s being honest, he thinks he’s kind of in love with her. The kind of love that wants to see her happy, watch her thrive, even if it meant not being the one by her side as she made her way through life.

”Dal-mi,” he asks as she leans her head against his car window, during a late night shortly after Samsan Tech disbanded, when he’d offered her a ride home after finding out she’d been overextending herself in an effort to acclimate to In-jae Company’s operations, “Are you okay?”

She never says no, not then and not the multitude of times he questions her wellbeing afterwards. It's always a cheerful "Yes!" with no actual merit behind it. A facade he wishes she felt comfortable enough shedding in front of him. 

So, Ji-pyeong lets go. Because it's what he's used to. He doesn't know any better, how to be selfish regarding the things he wanted, realizing what they were for that matter, until it was too late. And for the next three years, he tries his best to be there for her in whatever way she needed.

If his heart occasionally pangs in want, or beats a little faster in Dal-mi’s presence, he ignores it. It’s enough. For now, it would have to be enough.

** (ii.) **

Ji-pyeong will catch a glimpse of her once in awhile at Sandbox. Less often than he did as an official mentor for Samsan Tech, but enough for a friendly chat or an occasional coffee. All business, never straying towards personal. A quick recap of Halmeoni’s prognosis, or experience with a new restaurant were all he got. The chance of losing out on what they had if he pushed for more instilled enough caution that he held back. To be satisfied with the tentative kinship that had transpired between them in favour of losing out on it forever to the shattered chance at something more. 

He’s careful. Cautious as she approaches him with a warm smile while he stands awaiting an elevator le ading towards the basement parking garage. After a long day of mentoring, plus a persistent splitting headache, he had no plans beyond attempting to numb away the pain with the few hours of his day he spared for sleep before his endless cycle of relentless work repeated itself once more.

“You were here today?” 

“Yes,” he musters up something he hopes resembles a smile rather than a grimace, “A new round of start-ups entered the residency program today. President Yoon asked me to help out.”

“You do have an excellent track record, after all.” Dal-mi quips. 

Despite himself, Ji-pyeong surmises a grin back, an automatic reaction as a result of witnessing her in a cheery mood, “Haha,” he laughs weakly, wincing when it feels like a nerve in his forehead flexes in excruciating pain. 

Dal-mi looks on concerned, raising a hand which lowers itself almost immediately, “Are you okay?”

“Just a small migraine. Nothing a meal and some sleep won’t solve.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No, I was planning on grabbing something before heading home.”

“Let’s go together.”

_ What? _

He repeats it out loud a moment later, vocalizing his confusion, “What?”

“I thought you were all about being efficient,” Dal-mi states staring ahead at the elevator doors, oblivious of his stunned expression, “I’m hungry, you’re clearly losing it. Might as well kill two birds with one stone,” she turns towards him, teasingly adding, “How about it? Your treat, of course.” 

“Of course.” He responds, recovering from his initial shock. 

Coffee he could tolerate. Lunch he could handle, even if it meant cringing over the memory of confessing to her over a bowl of noodles of all things. However, dinner was new. Dinner was for wooing new investors, for impressing first dates. Dal-mi was neither, out of context regardless of how he views it.

Yet, he agrees. 

He was hungry, after all. And, she did have a point. It would go against his principles to refuse. 

“Mr. Han,” Dal-mi chimes suddenly, a beat after, when the damned elevator  still hasn’t arrived, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

It’s the Friday before Chuseok, one he imagines he’ll spend alone like the holidays preceding it, Yeongshil serving as company along with the bottle of whiskey he’d procured from a grateful investor. He assumes it will sound as lame to Dal-mi as it did in his head, so he’ll feign ignorance and pray it passes. 

“Tomorrow?” He phrases as a question, “Nothing, why?”

She presses the button for an elevator heading downstairs, one he embarrassingly realizes he’d forgotten to push himself prior to their conversation ensuing, “You should come over for Chuseok, join us for dinner. Halmeoni was asking for you.”

“She was?”

“Yes, it seems like you made quite an impression last time.”

He guesses she still doesn’t know.

“Parents love me,” he jokes, the irony of his words not escaping him.

“That’s still up in the air,” comes out the reply accompanied with a sigh, “You haven’t met my mother yet.”

He has dinner with Dal-mi the second night in a row the next day. And, it’s glorious. 

There’s so much food. Ji-pyeong’s never seen quite a spread, even at some of the high end restaurants he’s frequented as his paycheques progressively increased in volume. Loads of sugary  _songpyeon_ and mountains of savoury  _japchae_ , interspersed between courses of stir fried  _bulgogi_ ,  _jeon_ of multiple varieties and Halmeoni’s insisting hands piling food on his plate, sometimes straight from her hand to his mouth in a display of overt maternal affection. 

He bonds with Dal-mi’s mother over Go-stop, getting to know the woman who the former was starting to warm up to again. He watches their hesitant movements around one another as the night deepened, observing how they gradually eased up and laughed heartily over a friendly turned heated round of the card game, cheeks slightly reddened from the  _makgeoli_ Ji-pyeong picked up on his way over, unsure if whiskey was an acceptable gift for an official first time visit.

Throughout the night, he doesn’t fail to notice Dal-mi’s surprised glances thrown in his direction. When her grandmother, a stranger in her eyes to the man she’d invited into her home, acted as if she’d known Ji-pyeong his whole life. 

Ji-pyeong anticipates the inevitable query as she walks him back to his car, before she even opens her mouth to speak. 

“Do you and Halmeoni know each other from before?”

He acts clueless, partially to gauge her reaction, to see if he can decipher what she wants to hear so as to not disappoint her, half because he’s not sure how to explain, “Why would you think that?”

“With the way you two were acting? I’d be concerned otherwise.”

A long pause ensues, Dal-mi patiently awaiting his response. He’s lied enough, and there’s really no good reason for him to continue doing so about this. 

“Yes,” he admits, rubbing a nervous hand on the back of his neck, “For a long time, actually.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Ah, that,” he trails, “It’s a long story.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” she rests her back against the trunk of his car, “Do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Tell me,” she says, tacking on a split second later, “Everything.” 

The implication is heavy. Everything doesn’t appear to mean solely his complicated relationship with her grandmother. It seems to encompass literally everything, from who he was, to the letters he wrote, to the person standing in front of her now. 

“Everything?” He joins her, leaning his weight in a spot a respectable distance away from her, “We might be here awhile.”

But, unable to deny her what he was able to provide, he tells her everything anyway. 

He tells her about growing up in an orphanage, how his ticket to the real world came in the form of prize money he couldn’t even use and a small stipend from the place he spent the majority of his life in that ultimately abandoned him too. How her grandmother served as the buffer between him and the harrowing adulthood that awaited. How the letters that started out as a favour ultimately ended up as correspondence he’d treasure for the rest of his life. A friend when he had none, comfort in the form of words that blanketed him in warmth and support. Worth as much to him as it meant to her. Perhaps, even more.

“So, that’s how it happened,” he concludes lamely, not quite sure how to wrap up a sob story he scarcely doled out. He glances in her direction out of his periphery, nerves preventing him from facing her reaction head on.

Dal-mi is startingly quiet, unlike anything he’s seen before. Used to her lively demeanour, he’s afraid he’s broken her completely, his tragic backstory the only thing she’ll remember now when they interact. 

“You were the student always hanging around by Halmeoni’s corn dog shop?”

“Hanging around, doing chores- I stayed there for a whole year, you know.”

“And the guy walking behind me while I was walking home that one time during spring? You were the one I told to stop following me?”

“I  wasn’t _following_ you. But yes, that was me.” 

”I had no idea.”

He certainly didn’t expect  _that_.

“Why would you?” he says plainly, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket, “I never said anything.”

“I should have asked.”

He wishes she did.

“It’s okay.”

“Except it’s not,” Dal-mi argues, “You should have said something after Seonju,” referring to the day when she’d glared at him with such hatred in her eyes that he’d given up all hope of getting through to her. 

“I tried, remember?” he reminds her, tilting his head to look her way, “You didn’t want to hear it.”

Her gaze is apologetic as it connects with his, “Right,” she whispers quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. It was my lie, my truth to tell. I should never have brought someone else into it.”

For a second, it looks like she’ll for push more. As if there’s so much she still wants to say, a series of ‘How could you’s and ‘I wish you would have’s on the precipice of being uttered into existence. Dal-mi’s mouth opens and closes itself a couple of times, in what would have been an almost comedic manner otherwise. There was, however, nothing funny about this. 

“Go-stop,” she blurts out randomly as he picks himself up, hand freezing on the door handle as it began to open the car on the driver’s side, ”That was true then? It was your dream?”

Ji-pyeong turns around to face her. Hair in a disarray, face slightly pink from the rice wine and her lack of warm layers, she looks at him.

With resolve? Hope?

He replies straightforwardly, no hesitation, “Yes.”

“How much of it was true?”

“Besides the name?” He asks, receiving a nod in response, “Everything.”

And, he thinks, he knows her well enough by now to know that she believes him. 

“So,” she starts, “What now?”

_I think I’m falling in love with you. I might be halfway there already_ ,  he wants to say. Instead,

“Friends?”

“Aren’t we there already?”

“I want to do it the right way this time,” comes his decisive declaration, “No lies. No pretense,” offering a hand to her, “Just you and me.”

Ji-pyeong and Dal-mi.  The way it should have been all along.

He wonders how things would have turned out, had he just signed his own name at the bottom of those letters fifteen years ago. Would they be standing here, like this, right now? 

Except, he can’t afford to ponder about the ‘what-if’s and all the alternatives to the current situation playing out. Instead, his outstretched hand dangles between them, a bridge, connecting past and present, paving towards an unknown future. But, it was a future that existed, a promise waiting to be fulfilled. She looks at it hesitantly, gaze lifting to meet his. 

There’s something there. Something he can’t quite pinpoint. A cross between uncertainty and curiousity. A flash of decisiveness strikes across her face, resounding in its sureity. Her hand grips his firmly, a shock coursing through him, down to his core. If she feels it too, nothing gives it away. 

“Okay,” she shakes on it, calling him by his name for the first time, “Ji-pyeong.”

** (iii.) **

Being friends with Dal-mi was like falling back into a foregone habit. It came to him almost as inherently as breathing. For someone who could barely name one friend he possessed, besides maybe Park Dong-cheon when he wasn’t being frustratingly annoying, Ji-pyeong’s kinship with her feels like the most natural, inevitable relationship in his otherwise solitary life. 

They still went out for coffee breaks, visited nearby trendy cafes for lunch, and spent car rides driving home from work together. Except now, their conversations weren’t limited to a carefully curated list of topics deemed safe for discussion.

Slowly, she began to open up to him about everything. From her fears about the future, whether it was regarding her career, her endeavours with In-jae Company, or as CEO of Chung-myeong company, the latter of which was her father’s namesake. Her father, whose story she narrated through poorly concealed, unshed tears during a lull in between a late night they spent working side by side inside her new and improved office space at the Sandbox building. Tears that took all his strength to not wipe away with shaky fingers at the fear of her recoiling from unwanted contact, opting to simply offer up tissues in an effort to comfort her.

Halmeoni came up. A lot. Dal-mi was less guarded about her concerns, speaking freely about her grandmother’s disease and it’s progression from bad to worse. Noongil had been enough to substantiate her deteriorating eyesight, but there came a point where the hassle of running a business became unfathomable for a lone woman of her age with a disability, and a parting with her beloved food truck turned from a possibility to an imminent ending. 

It was the absence of a certain someone that lingered the most. Unspoken, yet ever present. He ached to bring him up, if only to address her obvious pain, to force her to deal with it, to see beyond it and move on. The selfish part of him constantly fought with the rational voice mediating his urges. It’s not just for his sake, it would be for her too. 

He resolves to not bring it up before she does. It wasn’t worth it.

They were meant to meet downstairs in the Sandbox lobby, where Dal-mi was waiting before they headed out together towards her home for Halmeoni’s birthday dinner. Ji-pyeong spots Dal-mi conversing with a man he’s not seen before, her expression painstakingly polite as he approaches close enough to witness it. Sidling up alongside the pair, he unconsciously drifts to her side, murmuring a greeting before his sight settles on the stranger across from him.

Good looking enough, he supposes. A little short.

“Is this your boyfriend?” The man inquires, sizing Ji-pyeong up. Dal-mi’s uneasiness is obvious, apparent in her stiff posture and nervous glance in his direction. 

His decision is swift, based on the facts laid out in front him of him, he rationalizes. Not embedded in some possessive, totally unwarranted behaviour he refused to believe he was capable of embodying. 

“Yes,” Ji-pyeong responds confidently, just a tad arrogantly, with a lazy arm he instinctively slings across her shoulders, gently bringing her closer when she doesn’t pull away ,  “Who are you?”

“Ah-“ the man flusters, “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” He asserts, which is enough to receive a rushed apology and equally hurried departure from the man in question. 

Ji-pyeong looks down at Dal-mi, releasing her quickly when he registers his arm still on her, “Sorry, you looked like you could use a hand.”

“Don’t be,” she breathes out a sigh of relief, “Thanks for doing that, you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t mind.” 

_ Just doing what any friend would do in the same situation _ , he justifies internally, ignoring the way his pulse quickens at the close contact. Especially dissuading himself from interpreting the way she stared at him intensely throughout the night when she thought he wasn’t looking as anything more than her reeling from an unwanted interaction he’d once again saved her from.

Inevitably, the Nam Do-san shaped elephant in the room does come up. They’re discussing a prospective investor for Chung-myeong Company’s trademark food services app, Ji-pyeong walking Dal-mi through her first draft of presentation slides, offering edits and tips where necessary. He notes, with the slightest hint of pride, and a tinge of regret at not being needed as much anymore, that there are far fewer amendments involved compared to when he’d edited her initial CEO pitch at Sandbox’s hackathon ages ago. 

“So, moving forward I think it’s best if you approach it from this angle,” he dictates, scratching in details with a pen on the printed slides she’d provided him a copy of, “Appeal to this piece of their vision and mission statement, ‘To provide accessibility to those who are often forgetten’. By modelling your presentation around these major points, you’ll not only force them to pay attention to you, but it will also align your values with their’s, making them more interested in a potential partnership.”

“What about profitability?”

“For that, ad revenue. Sponsored vendors, who pay extra to get their restaurants to appear at the top of the app’s search results.”

“Ah, okay,” Dal-mi nods in understanding, scrawling her own notes in the margins ofthe notebook she carried around with her everywhere, “That makes sense.” 

She finishes writing with a flourish, smiling as she looks up from the paper at him, “Thank you.”

Ji-pyeong waves her off, beginning to gather his things when she closes her notebook, indicating a conclusion to her seemingly endless list of questions. It’s already 7PM, and he’s long overdue back at his apartment, a space he hasn’t seen for two consecutive nights in a row after caffeine fueled all nighters at his own office. Dal-mi follows him to the door, no indication of her intent to depart for her own home.

“You’re staying then?”

”No rest for the restless,” she misquotes, adorably, probably on purpose, “What about you? You have a date tonight, right?”

_ A date _ ? He narrowly avoids snorting out a chuckle in disbelief, ”Who said that?”

”Dong-cheon mentioned you had something going on, I just assumed because of the timing-”

”Not a date.” He cuts her off, wondering what Dong-cheon could possibly have said to convince her. Returning home following a couple of nights away barely qualified as an event, let alone a date.

”Oh.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her, joking casually, without any real malice behind it, “Were you jealous?”. 

Her retort is quick, a little too fast to be neutral, “Please,” she scoffs exaggeratedly, “What you do with your life is your business.”

There’s an underlying tiredness lacing her tone, evident in the way the words ever so slightly crack at the end of her sentence. The bags under her eyes are pronounced, darker than usual. Tendrils of hair have escaped from her ponytail, framing a dull colouring in desperate need of rest. He wonders when the last time she ate something was. 

“You should go home” he chastises, unable to prevent his mentor voice from doling out unsolicited advice, “I promise the work will still be there in the morning.”

She waves him off without looking back as she returns to her desk, “Don’t act as if you’re not going to catch up on the news or go over meeting minutes as soon as you get home.”

He laughs, calling out before he exits her office space, “Dal-mi.”

“Hm?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

They decide on a chicken place around the corner from Sandbox, both agreeing that they had their fill of noodles during their prior excursions. 

“Why don’t you ever go out on dates?” She asks, after ravaging a drumstick, wiping traces of grease off her fingers with a napkin, “Halmeoni’s constantly complaining about how if a guy like you can’t find a decent match there’s no hope left for the remaining bachelors on earth. It’s kind of nauseating, actually.”  


He itches to wipe away the oil at the corner of her mouth, staining her otherwise perfect complexion, now that she had a chance to satiate her hunger, “I could say the same about you.”

“That’s different.” 

He tries not to be petty. He really does. 

“Nam Do-san,” the attempt at resisting losing out against his overwhelming compulsion to divulge, “That guy really left an impression on you, huh?.”

“It’s not him,” she says after a quiet interlude, “It’s everything else. I’m still reconciling the fact that I lived half my life wholeheartedly believing in something that turned out to be fake.” 

Sometimes, he forgets how it all started. There are fleeting moments, spare seconds where he can pretend they met quite differently than what had actually transpired. Simply a man and a woman, forging a friendship on common ground and interests, no letters or false identities tying them down to a painful past. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You could try, you know,” she pointedly ignores his apologetic remark, redirecting the interrogation back towards him, “Dating, I mean.”

Ji-pyeong sips at his untouched water, throat suddenly unbearably dry, “Why,” he prepositions, partially serious, ”Are you interested?”

“What? No!” The response comes a little too quick, a deep blush blossoming across her face at the outburst. 

“Kidding.” 

He’s not. But it’s clear she wasn’t ready to hear that. 

** (iv.) **

When Ji-pyeong stirs awake from a painful cramp in his neck, he registers a thick blanket placed over him, the plastic gloves he previously donned removed and thrown across a table with half finished skewers, along with his now rumpled tie in a heap. 

Dinner at Dal-mi’s home was a ritual of sorts now. No longer was a reason necessary for his impromptu visits, given that the Seo family was finally aware of the nature of his and Halmeoni’s relationship. He stopped by that night intending to merely drop off clean Tupperware previously filled to the brim with various side dishes, a stack of business proposals he’d been unable to sift through at the office awaiting him back at his apartment. Upon Halmeoni’s insistence at staying for a meal, he’d agreed on the condition that she’d let him go as soon as said meal was consumed, even if it meant skipping out on dessert in the form of convenience store ice-cream he offhandedly mentioned enjoying once. 

Needless to say, he’d stuck around for ice-cream. And, offered to help with meal preparation for the next day, when he typically would have dropped by anyway. 

Ji-pyeong knows he should get up. He’s already behind on his work as it is. If he slacks again tonight, there was no way he would be able to meet deadlines without compromising his well being in the process.

But, the couch, in all of its discomfort, causing his knees to bend in order to fit within its confines, is so much more inviting than the endless amount of work he’d be subject to if they parted. 

”And Ji-pyeong?” The mention of his name from Dal-mi’s mother causes his ears to perk, unintentionally eavesdropping on the blurred bits of conversation he’s able to pick up on. 

”Sleeping,” he overhears Dal-mi’s voice, through a haze of tiredness and eyelids shuttered closed, heavy with exhaustion, “On the couch.”

”Again? His legs barely fit across that thing!” Dal-mi’s mother exclaims, “Wake him up, offer him your room.”

”Mom!”

”So what? You act like he’s your older brother, what’s the big deal?”

_ A brother _ , he holds back a cringe at the unwanted relationship being forced upon him.  


”What are you talking about?” Dal-mi’s shocked tone appeases Ji-pyeong just a bit. He barely surpresses the relieved sigh at one of his newly unrealized fears being quashed as soon as it surfaced.

She continues, “There’s no way. He’s not like a brother.”

”Then?”

”Not this again, Mom. Not now.” 

”Why not? It’s not like he can hear us,” lowering her tone, he assumes as a precaution, ”Anyone with half a brain can see he’s in love with you.” 

_Go back to sleep_ , he wills to himself like a mantra.  _You’re not supposed to be listening to this._

”So which is it, has your brain capacity suddenly downsized, or are you willfully being ignorant?”

”It’s not that, you know it’s not like that,” comes the exasperated reply, “It’s, just- it’s complicated.”

”Is it?” Dal-mi’s mother prompts once more, “Or are you making it more difficult than it actually is?”

”I can’t lose him,” Dal-mi admits, “It’s selfish, and it’s cruel. But if I lose him too, I don’t think I’ll be able to survive it.”

In a way, he’s elated to hear that Dal-mi considers him as something she’d regret losing. But, the ‘too’ leaves a residual bitter taste in his mouth. Being likened to someone who he grudgingly admitted being jealous of wasn’t a good feeling. 

”You may lose him anyway, Dal-mi. There’s a limit to everything. Good boy is a good boy, but he’s only human.”

”I know.” Dal-mi sighs, confusedly following up with, “Since when did you start calling him that?”

“It’s catchy,” her mom says simply, “And it’s true.”

There was that damned ‘good boy’ moniker once again. It was as if it had been branded across his forehead ever since Halmeoni deemed him worthy of the title. Except, a good boy wouldn’t place his feelings above the desires of the ones he loved. A good boy wouldn’t pine for more when he didn’t deserve it. He certainly wouldn’t continue listening in on a conversation clearly not meant for his ears. 

He feigns slumber once more, the act slowly giving way to reality as a troubled sleep overcomes him not long after.

** (v.) **

Ji-pyeong’s interactions with the other Seo sister are minimal, primarily professional or within the scope of a group setting. He respects In-jae’s tenacity and cutthroat nature, similar to his own style, yet contrasting so distinctly with that of her own sister’s. It amazed him how two members of the same family could be simultaneously different and alike. As much as Dal-mi refused to admit, they were just as stubborn as one another, regardless of the conflicting personalities they defaulted to in a business environment. 

While searching for Dal-mi, he happens across her older sister, still working late hours into the night, despite impending winter holidays drawing close. In-jae, post informing him that Dal-mi would return soon, graciously invites him to bide his time in her office as he waits, albeit grudgingly when she notices how he starts shifting on his feet, unsure of where to go.

He notices a picture of the two sisters on In-jae’s desk, one from when they were younger. Probably before their parents had separated, he assumes, judging by the carefree smiles and affection emanating from their captured beams. There’s another frame, a blatantly cropped group picture of In-jae Company’s employees, solely containing the two sisters in a comfortable, yet clearly posed position, lacking the ease displayed in the yellowed, dated image beside it.

"Why don't you come over?" Ji-pyeong inquires from the seat across from In-jae before he can stop himself, “For Christmas.”

Rising up, without even a glance in his direction, she retorts shortly, "I’m busy. You of all people should know what that feels like,” picking up a stack of papers piled atop another employee’s desk, sitting down at her own, “Besides, don't you think you're overstepping right now?"

"Dal-mi misses you, I can tell."

"I see her everyday."

"Not like that," he persists, elaborating, "She doesn't miss her boss, she misses her sister."

In-jae halts, the papers she was in the process of furitively sifting through come to a standstill. She replies, without looking up, "You're out of line."

"I know."

"It's really none of your business,” she reiterates, this time affixing him with a steely gaze. There were far and few moments in his career where he felt geninuely intimidated. Seo In-jae had him recounting the early stages of his career when he would swallow his pride and provide meek responses to his superiors when necessary, even if it went against every fibre of his being.

"You're right," he concedes, afraid he’ll sour the tenative professional relationship that had begun to form between them if he prods further, “It was worth a shot.”

Minutes later, Dal-mi bursts through the office door, rushing towards him in haste after registering his presence, “Ji-pyeong, you were here,” she breathes out, panting, “Sorry, my meeting ran a little late-“ her words are cut short when she locks eyes with In-jae, who observes the encounter in silence, “Unnie, you’re still here?”  


“It is my office, after all.”

“Right,” Dal-mi trails, and he can tell she wants to say more, perhaps ask the question he’s already asked, one she may have proposed numerous times before. 

She doesn’t. Instead, with a diplomatic goodnight and nod of acknowledgment from In-jae, they head out together. 

He spends Christmas with the Seos that year. It’s become a given, spending holidays as a makeshift group, birthdays, milestones. After dropping off and picking up Halmeoni from her church service, they munch on snacks and exchange gifts across the living room floor, an awkward moment under the mistletoe bypassed when Dal-mi places a brief peck on his cheek at her mom’s and Halmeoni’s insistence. 

His heart swells, knowing that if in this very moment, the earth stopped spinning, time coming to a standstill, he’d choose to live in it forever.

Dal-mi and him decorate the small tree they’d managed to haul from a supermarket a few days ago together, hands occassionally grazing against one another as they reached inside the same box of ornaments.  The first brush causes her to flinch. By the third, she lets it happens. If he was hopeful, she allows the touches to linger. Except, he’s anything but an optimist, and assumes it’s simply because she’s gotten used to the contact. 

He finds out later from Dal-mi that although In-jae was missing during the holiday itself, she makes up for it by showing up the night before New Year’s eve, their grandmother’s favourite dessert and apology in tow. 

** (vi.) **

It was karma, Ji-pyeong supposes, laughing in his face when he found out that the woman who he owed a priceless debt was slowly becoming a shadow of her former self, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. No doctor he could throw his useless wealth at, no God he can reach out to for solace. He’d be indebted to her forever, regardless of how many times she absolved him of it. So, to compensate, he made himself unequivocally available, as much as possible, urging Halmeoni to call him whenever she found herself in a bind, irrespective of day, time or circumstance.

In turn, she had redeemed his offer only twice so far, the second being today, when she asked him in the early hours of dawn to meet her outside of the church she frequented every Sunday. The task of escorting her home, typically assigned to In-jae or Dal-mi, had fallen upon him that week as the sisters were preoccupied with an upcoming bid causing them to work through the weekend in its entirity. In an effort to make the most of his free time, he insists on taking her out to lunch before dropping her off at her place, an offer she grudgingly accepts when he refuses to relent.

She’s propped against her walking stick, sitting on a bench outside the church’s doors when he arrives. 

“Am I late?” He calls out as he approaches, alerting her of his presence. These days, it’s getting harder for her to discern objects and people until her eyesight’s had ample time to adjust, so he’s gotten accustomed to using his voice to get her attention.

“Not more than usual.” She mutters, dusting off her kneecaps as she stands shakily, Ji-pyeong immediately offering his arm for support. 

“Hey,” he replies indignantly, securing her hand in the crook of his elbow, “When have I ever been late?”

“Your record currently stands at fifteen years, give or take.”

“Fine, you win,” he surrenders, carefully guiding her to the sidewalk, “So, what will it be today? Coffee? Lunch? There’s a cafe nearby where we can grab both.”

They make small talk, him slipping up when he suggests that she consider conducting her prayers from the sanctuary of home, for her own sake of course, given her difficulties navigating the world in her current state. It figures that as soon as the advice is imparted he stumbles over a crack in the path himself. 

“Maybe  you’re the one who should consider taking the advice you so confidently and generously give out.” She quips, readjusting her grip on his arm once he straightens himself out.

“Haha.”

"He listens, you know." Halmeoni says after a short period of mutual silence, her voice solid in its faith, no traces of doubt embedded behind the words she spoke. 

"Who are you talking about?"

She thumbs at a rosary previously tied around her wrist, one he previously assumed was a weird looking bracelet, "God."

"You don’t have to talk to him inside a church if you want him to listen. Isn’t God present everywhere or something?” He assumes there’s a semblance of truth to his statement when she doesn’t refute it, “Besides, I'm not Catholic. I don't even know what religion my parents followed before they died."

"He’s not confined to a singular name, and He doesn't come in a one size-fits-all shape or form," she rebuts, pointing at his heart, "He's there."

He scoffs, "If you say this is all a part of a big plan, and that everything that happens is written in advance-"

"I'm not going to say that," she interrupts, grasping his hand using the one not preoccupied with the rosary, "It doesn't have to be God. Just believe in something  bigger than yourself. That's enough."

Ji-pyeong does though. He believes in a hierarchy, he’d made his way through it himself. He believes in the universe, planets, stars and all the galaxies spread out across incompressible quantities of space. The fact that his life is relatively small when contrasted with a concept so unfathomably large. What he doesn’t buy into is luck. Coincidence, fate, all terms that seemed so utterly foolish and ultimately naive at their roots. They were phenomena for weak people, who wanted something tangible to blame when things didn’t go their way.

“I know what you’re thinking, Good Boy,” Halmeoni chimes in, scarily, as if she could read his mind, “That it’s all nonsense, that destiny and fate are old adages for people like me stuck in the past.”

“That’s not-“ He gives up trying to convince her otherwise. She’d see past it anyway, “I can’t attribute anything to chance. It’s not fair to me, or my efforts. The one thing I can claim is that I deserve to be here. If I give luck all the credit, what does that make me?”

“You can be lucky and hardworking. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

If only he  _was_ lucky. Luck was attributed to people like Nam Do-san, whose names coincidentally got picked out of newspapers by chance, who happened to be in the right place at the right time to come to the rescue of the women they loved. Not people like him that got tangled up in lies they likely would have been better off without. 

“Lucky, huh?”

“Maybe luck’s not the right term,” she ruminates, then rectifying, “Good fortune, then.”

“I don’t think that’s it either,” his laugh is a tinge sardonic, forced in the face of not knowing how to react to ‘good fortune’ and his name being mentioned in the same phrase, “Would anyone look at my life and associate the words good fortune with it?”

“Good things happen to good people, Good Boy,” she pats his arm reassuringly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to believe it. I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”

** (vii.) **

Used to adhering to a tight schedule, and as a huge fan of predetermined appointments, being Seo Dal-mi’s friend is a whole culture shock of its own. 

Her spontaneous lifestyle had gradually grown on him, no longer frazzled when she randomly asked him to dinner, or dropped by his office unannounced with a pair of lattes, a caramel for herself, unsweetened for him, and the latest updates on her progress with her most recent project or foray into a new market. 

When she barges into SH Venture Capital around 6PM, fuming, steam practically blowing out of her ears, he’s keenly aware of how a ten minute conversation over coffee wouldn’t be enough to placate her.

“I need a drink.”

“Now?”

“No, obviously not now,” she counters, a little aggressively, “I can wait until you’re done.”

“Rough day?”

“Don’t ask.”

So, he doesn’t, instead tying up loose ends, delegating the remainder of work to his juniors in a succinct email. He leads the way to his car, where they drive in comfortable silence as Dal-mi naps, in the direction of her place, and the outdoor restaurant that served warm ramen and alcoholic beverages individually and by the dozen for similarly exhausted salarymen on a pit stop following a rough day of work before heading home. He parks his car on the street opposite her house, taking advantage of the unusually pleasant weather to walk the short distance from the residential area to the chairs and tables lining the outside of the humble, tented eatery. 

Fall had overstayed its welcome, the mild bite of autumn chill persisting into the month of November, irrespective of the trees that have shed their leaves, setting up the backdrop for a late, and what he figures will be an uncharacteristically warm winter. He shrugs off his jacket, offering it to sweater clad Dal-mi who initially rejects it, persuaded by him citing his multiple layers and the subdued wind as reason enough for her to take it. 

He warms at the sight of her in his clothing, regardless of circumstances leading up to it.

The hot broth and cold drinks appear to be a cure to Dal-mi’s lethargy. As soon as sustenance enters her body, in the form of a slurp of thick udon noodles and three gulps of the beer-soju cocktail curated by Ji-pyeong, she breaks.

“I just-“ Dal-mi complains, drinking in between sentences, “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Probably nothing,” Ji-pyeong remarks casually, mixing a glass of the hybrid concoction for himself, “Sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“But, I was so sure,” she whines, “I did everything right, to the tee. There was no detail I overlooked, not one point in the presentation I didn’t fact check at least three times before finalizing it.” 

He leans back against his chair, “Maybe it was for the best,” was his well intentioned attempt at soothing her, “Something better could be waiting around the corner, something that was meant for you all along. After all, good things happen to good people.”

Dal-mi shoots him an incredulous glare, “Don’t tell me you’ve started to take Halmeoni’s sage wisdom to heart?” She says disbelievingly, emphasizing the ridiculousness of the words ‘sage wisdom’ with overexaggerated air quotes.

“She might have a point,” he unscrews the cap off another soju bottle, Dal-mi cracking the tab on a beer can before pouring its contents into a glass, “Besides, ‘a future full of hopes and dreams’, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Dismissing him with a wave, “That was a long time ago,” she argues, gesturing towards the soju in his hands, combining the stronger alcohol with her beer and downing the glass in one fell swoop of movement,“From now on, I’m going off straight facts. Nothing that I wouldn’t be able to find written in a book or a credible source on the internet.”

“I have to admit, that makes me a little upset.”

“Isn’t it what you wanted me to do in the first place?”

“Yes, and I hope you continue to do so,” he sighs, “But, you’re Seo Dal-mi because you’re a dreamer. You like to act first and think later, which, in the context of a start up sounds like a suicide pact, but it’s what makes you, you.” 

Another shot of soju, cut with an immediate gulp of tepid, almost weak, beer, “Accelerate as much as you want Dal-mi. Just-“ he lets out a hiccup, raising his glass in toast formation, “Just let me be there to step on the brakes when necessary. Deal?”

She clangs her own drink against his, unfazed when the liquid threatens to spill over the rim, and to Ji-pyeong’s relief, no fragile glasses eviscerating into shards upon impact.

“Deal.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You wouldn’t be Han Ji-pyeong if you didn’t.”

He simply grins in response, drinking his own glass in one shot.

“You know,” Dal-mi starts, wiping at her mouth clumsily, “There's something I don't understand.”

He tries his best to concentrate, provide coherent, sound business strategies for whatever problems she was experiencing, managing to nod his head in a gesture he hopes comes across as encouraging and not haphazard, crazed motions of a lunatic in his drunken stupor. 

"Why didn't you use your name for the letters?" She asks, catching him off guard, desperation bordering the edges of her inquiry, in the slight pleading tone her voice conforms to, “It’s not like I’d know who you were anyway.”

It definitely wasn’t the first time she had brought up the letters. After their heartfelt conversation, serving as a prelude to their now steady friendship, they came up once in awhile in passing, a reference to an event that simply happened to them in the past. No significance placed on the nature of the letters themselves, the reasoning behind their existence. It wasn’t his place to push, and he was satisfied with finally being able to speak his piece outside her house that day, about his role in the story of them that started long before she was aware. 

Except, there was so much more to say. So much he wanted her to know, but was afraid would eventually drive her away. Now, with the opportunity wide open for taking, even as a byproduct borne out of liquid courage, he’ll seize it, accept the consequences as they come and hope he doesn’t end up regretting it.

"Halmeoni wanted you to have a friend,” preceded by a nervous gulp of air, he recites from memory, painfully aware of the reason that enticed him to sign those letters with a name that wasn’t his own to begin with, “Not a teenage boy that felt like he was doing you a favour."

_ A well off boy, from a good family. Not an orphan with nothing to his name and no one who loved him. _

"Is that what it was then?" She smiles sadly, draining the remnants of liquid in her glass before pouring out another, “Just you indulging in a sad little girl’s fantasies so she wouldn’t feel bad about her shitty life?”

_ Oh, what the hell _ . It's not like she'd remember any of this come the next morning when her hangover wore off.

Ji-pyeong takes another swig of soju, the burn barely registering as he braced himself, “Only at first," he swallows down his anxiety, allowing it to sink to the bottom of his stomach before proceeding, “Then it became something I looked forward to everyday."

She stares at him. For a painful eternity, all she does is look. At him, through him really, as if she could see every neuron firing off in his brain at that exact moment, all of the thoughts that crossed his mind before he became aware of them himself. Then, she abruptly scoops up an empty bottle, jumping out of her seat, pointing it upwards like a makeshift microphone.

“Hey,” she startles him out of his reverie with an exaggerated shout, the last syllable of the greeting dragged out, her voice slurred and pitched two tones lower than usual, in a manner which he belatedly realizes is meant to imitate him, “I don't know if we can stay happy like this forever, but if you stay with me, and always be with me like this, I think it's possible."

She finishes her monologue, arms braced at her sides with pride, grinning, “Did I remember that right?”

He laughs, the repercussions associated with half a dozen bottles of soju and more beer cans than his compromised brain was able to count split equally between them washing over him, dulling his senses. Right now, she’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

Teetering as he rises, Ji-pyeong faces her directly, delicately extracting the glass bottle from her hands and placing it on the foldout table, squinting his eyes at his useless watch where the numbers manifest themselves in unintelligible cursive, “It’s getting late, let me walk you home.”

When he refocuses his attention back on her, Dal-mi is appraising him thoughtfully, teeth gnawing on her lower lip, cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat matting her bangs to her forehead.

He barely registers how her gaze darts downwards, landing on his mouth. 

“You should have used your name,” she breathes out, springing forward, lips colliding with his messily, nearly missing their target before she realigns herself to slot against him perfectly, a murmur muffled against the width of her lips crushing themselves to his, 

“I think I would have liked you anyway.”

Ironically enough, his mind reminisces over countless drunken escapades during university, back when he would numb away his loneliness with a bottle of questionable alcohol or whatever brand of cheap beer was laying around his dorm. Nights where he was dragged out to clubs by acquaintances he didn’t bother staying in touch with post graduation, waking up the next morning with bad breath, lying in a state of undress next to someone he’d likely never see again. Memories of faceless women eager to discard him just as much as he was willing to move on, slowly resurfacing as his hangover subsided.

This, he feels, he won’t forget. 

Maybe because it’s Seo Dal-mi. Because it’s her and he’s him, and this moment feels like a lifetime of yearning in the making coming to a head. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more.

He doesn’t think it’s physically possible to get enough.

Her lips are soft, traces of alcohol lingering on her breath as she slowly opened her mouth, giving him permission to take. Give him a part of herself, the same part of him that he had relinquished to her, he thinks, a long time ago. 

And, he takes. 

_God_ , how good it felt to finally take what he wanted without feeling like he’s committing a crime, no longer undeserving of affection because of his circumstances, a lack of substantial upbringing. Here, he’s seen. He feels loved, even if it would all be snatched away from him under the shroud of a new day, without the guise of drunken endeavours to protect the wonderful illusion from shattering.

It’s sloppy and rushed, as if they’re trying to drink in as much as they can of one another before the universe inevitably pushes them apart again. She tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck, a groan arising within the back of his throat in response. Not one to be outperformed, he grips her waist tighter, pulling her impossibly close until their chests are pressed against each other, hearts beating in sync. Gasping, she bites his bottom lip, a movement that makes him simultaneosly want to wreak havoc, push further, and come to his senses regarding the reality of their situation.

He might be drunk, but she’s absolutely out of it.

With every ounce of self control he can manage to harness, he forces them to seperate, gently prying her hands away from his neck until they hang in front of her, "You're drunk."

She pouts, and it takes all his restraint to not forget everything and just kiss her again, "So are you."

"Not enough for this," He gently eases her into position, offering his side for support as they stumbled the short distance back to her place, "Not like this." He repeats, half to her, mostly to himself. 

Ji-pyeong is thankful for the burst of adrenaline that allows him to propel forward, to not dwell on the kiss and instead escort her back home on wobbly legs and a fading state of consciousness. The gate is unlocked once they arrive, likely left open for Dal-mi to shut once she got back home after work. He knows there’s a spare key laying around somewhere underneath the doormat, but any change in altitude right now would likely result in him spilling the contents of his stomach all over the front porch. 

"Oh? It's Halmeoni!" Dal-mi lights up with recognition after noticing the figure at the door, "Halmeonnii...!" 

"Dal-mi, are you drunk?"

Dal-mi pokes an accusatory finger into his chest, "He made me do it!"

"Hey!"

She giggles, "Jo-king,” breaking the word into two syllables, accentuated with a peace sign.

Ji-pyeong deposits Dal-mi on the living room couch, the warmth of her body as it clung to his side, balancing itself precuriously throughout the journey back, overwhelmingly absent as it peels away from him. He bids Halmeoni a shaky farewell as he heads towards the door, ready to dial a designated driver to drop him home. He’d come by to pick up his own car in the morning.

"Ji-pyeong,” Dal-mi’s grandmother calls out, just as he’s about to step over the threshold leading outside, “Stay the night here."

"It's probably best if I go home."

"Don't be foolish, you can barely walk. I'll put out some extra blankets and the foldout mattress," beckoning him inside with a wave of her hand and no nonsense tone, she presses a palm to her nose as it wrinkled in disgust, "Ugh, you stink! Aren't you coming inside, or do you want to force an old lady at my age to drag you both into your beds?"

“Coming." Ji-pyeong follows behind obediently, incapable of winning an argument against her. He stops short in front of Dal-mi, who is presently staring blankly into space from the spot where he left her on the couch. At least she was sitting upright now. 

Looking back and forth between the inebriated occupant of the couch cushionsand Halmeoni, the latter simply staring at him expectantly, he slowly catches on and lowers himself to Dal-mi’s height, coaxing her into his arms, opting to carry her to her bedroom with the remaining bit of residual energy he can manage to muster. 

“It’s the least I can do,” he attempts to feebly excuse the form of contact, “You know, in exchange for letting me sleep here.” 

To his irritation, Halmeoni gives him a knowing look, even though she was the one that basically thrusted her granddaughter into his grasp in the first place, “I’ll leave some clothes on the back of the bathroom door. Shower before you go to bed.” 

"Don't listen to her," Dal-mi whispers suddenly as if it’s a conspiracy, her breath hot as it tickled the side of his neck, "You smell really good, you always do."

He’s caught between wishing he remembers nothing that occurred tonight, knowing it would never happen again, and hoping that he’s able to memorize every word that leaves her mouth, every kiss imparted on his lips, so that he can at least hold on to the memories for the nostalgia as he’d done in the past. As he was used to.

There are clothes hanging on the doorknob as promised when he’s done showering,another oversized t-shirt of Dal-mi's that should fit him just right, pajama pants that were definitely too short and would barely cover his calves.

"You should just leave a pair of clothes here next time." He recalls Halmeoni's offhanded comment from the last time he was over. Leaving something of his here felt definitive, finite. Like a family. 

_ I don't want to be alone anymore _ , is his last discernible thought before he drifts off into a dreamless sleep. 

When he awakens, the first thing he registers as his eyes open is Dal-mi staring him down.

He jumps, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest cavity, “You scared me!”

“Good morning to you too.”

Ji-pyeong can only imagine how he looks next to her, bleary eyed, hair damp from where it hadn’t dried properly when he promptly fell asleep straight after his shower last night. With her long, smooth tresses neatly tucked behind her ears and change of clothes, no one would have been able to detect how wasted she was mere hours ago.

He surveys the room as he sits up, “Where’s Halmeoni?”

“Doctor’s appointment. Mom went with her.”

“Oh, I see,” he says, slowly gathering his bearings as he rises to stand.

“Go freshen up,” she shoos him away, “I’ll heat up some food, I’m hungry as a well.”

There’s a modest arrangement of dishes littered across the dining table when he’s done brushing his teeth and washing his face. A particularly appealing bowl of hangover soup causes his stomach to grumble and water to pool inside his mouth.  He fights against his instincts, retreating to where Dal-mi was seated in the living room, on the same couch he inhabited not long before, “I should get going, Dal-mi. Busy day and all.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right,” he scours his brain for a worthy excuse, “I have a lot of laundry.”

“Laundry?”

“Yes, laundry. Don’t exactly have enough time to do it during the week, after all. Saturdays are for clean clothes-“ He quits rambling when he registers her confused expression, shutting up before he embarrasses himself further.

“At least have some breakfast before you go?”

He starts picking up his discarded clothes off the floor, intending to change into them before leaving, as gross as it might have been, “Maybe next time.”

She places a hand on his arm, halting him in his tracks, “What happened last night? Did I do something?”

He’s not sure whether it’s relief or disappointment that washes over him. 

“Nothing,” he attempts to brush off her concerns, “You were wasted, I brought you home. That’s it.”

“So, I didn’t practically force you to kiss me last night then?”

_Shit_.

“W-What?” He stutters, as Dal-mi rises to face him. 

“I was drunk, not unconscious,” she attempts a weak smile, “Give me a little more credit.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to remember when it was over.”

“What about you then? Were you planning to move on without saying anything?”

There was an out. He could lie. It would have been so easy to pretend like it meant nothing. To move forward, feeling grateful for the relationship they shared right now, suppressing his wants for a guarantee of forever. Boyfriends and girlfriends broke up and never spoke to each other again, but rarely had he bore witness to two friends giving up on one another for good. 

But, as it dawned upon him last night, with more clarity, an epiphany of sorts, in the light of day, he didn’t want to be just friends with Dal-mi anymore. Not if there was the slightest possibility that she may have felt the same way too. 

“I like you,” he finally admits, building up the courage to look her in the eye as he confessed, “I want to be the person you think of when you’re having a hard time. The first person,”  _the only person_ , he thinks silently, selfishly, “My feelings haven’t changed.”

Her mouth forms a small ‘o’, which in itself was insulting enough. Did she not take him seriously at all?

“I don’t know what I feel.”

“You kissed me first.” He points out.

“I know,” she sighs, “I know.”

The air is thick, tension laced. He’s too afraid to break the spell, say something that would ruin everything they’d built up to so far.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Dal-mi finally manages to get out.

Too late. It seems inevitable by now. He realizes he simply can’t bring himself to care anymore. That he would take a maybe in the face of otherwise getting nothing. A pity maybe, an almost maybe. The second choice, never first.

This much, it was enough.  It would have to be.

“I’ll get over it.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, ”I would never forgive myself for hurting you.”

Ji-pyeong braces himself for the rejection, one he would at least attempt to accept graciously.

“So, I think we should give it a try. Seriously.”

“Give what a try?” 

“Dating,” comes the earnest response, one that causes him to double take before her words register, “Will you go out on a date with me, Ji-pyeong?”

He kisses her. Once, to reassure himself that he’s not dreaming. Twice, when he realizes he can.

They eat breakfast together, shy glances interspersed between hesitant movements. And yet, he still mixes her food, pours her water. She chatters away about everything and nothing all at once, refilling his plate when she notices it emptying out. 

Nothing’s really changed, he muses. He loves her just as much as he did before.

Now, he was finally allowed to. 

Breakfast inevitably winds to a close, and while he doesn’t have laundry, there is a lengthy to-do list itching to be ticked off.

“I really should go now.” 

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

He doesn’t change out of Dal-mi’s ill-fitting clothing, bundling his own in a small to go bag before he steps outside. She’s wearing the coat he’d passed off to her last night, its oversized shoulders hanging over her petite frame like a blanket.

“I think I’ll keep this one.”

“It looks better on you anyway.”

“Liar.” 

Ji-pyeong muffles a laugh, gesturing at his own outfit, “I’ve got something of yours too. Sounds like a fair trade to me.”

“Except,” Dal-mi teases playfully, approaching closer, “I look way better in your clothes than you do in mine.”

“Tomorrow,” he says abruptly, before she can distract him further, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing, as of now.”

“Let’s get dinner. You and me,” he clarifies, in case his intentions came across vague, “On a date.” 

“I’d like that,” she smiles, now standing in front of him, recoiling as a hefty snowflake flutters down, melting on impact atop her reddened cheek. They look up at the sky in unison, Dal-mi stating in surprise, “Oh, it’s snowing.”

The first snow of winter. A premonition. Maybe, superstitions held some merit after all, he ponders, cradling her face in his hands and kissing her again. Thrice. This time no alcohol serving as a barrier, as he allows himself for the first time to consciously take what he wants. The gnawing voice within the confines of his mind telling him he didn’t deserve it quiets down when she kisses him back with equal fire, affection, hands tenderly buried in his hair, his own fingers pressed against the back of her head, keeping her fused to him. 

A future full of hopes and dreams.

He takes note from the woman in his arms, and runs with it. 

** (viii.) **

It’s two years he’s scared to admit feel like a dream he’ll wake up from any minute. 

Halmeoni’s health continues to deteriorate, her condition looming over his head, serving as a reminder of a debt that he would never be able to payback. He visits whenever he can, the weekly dinner at the Seo home a given, now complete with In-jae’s perfect attendance, alongside whatever time he could spare between busy workdays and his now budding relationship with his creditor’s granddaughter of all people. 

Dal-mi and him date. They visit museums and dine at fancy restaurants. She takes him to her favourite underground market and street food vendors where they feed each other steaming hot tteokbeoki straight off the skewer, wiping remnants of sauces off each other’s chins with sticky fingers as they toured the roads they knew so well but transformed into newfound adventures when they took them on together. 

He stays overnight at her place, like the numerous times that came before it, except now, everything was different. She comes over to his apartment, but instead of leaving in haste when the hour turned late, she slips into Ji-pyeong’s coziest pair of loungewear, small enough that the clothes wouldn’t bury her in yards of fabric, and climbs into bed beside him. Sometimes they’ll watch a movie, falling asleep to the sounds of sappy dialogue from the romantic comedies she loved, the ones Ji-pyeongrefused to admit were entertaining in their own right, or the action sequence from an intense spy thriller that he knew she only put up with because they were his guilty pleasure. 

Sometimes, he’ll kiss her goodnight, her responding with a fervour that eventually escalates into hurried movements, a blur of passionate kisses and the steady thrum of their heartbeats as they quickened, reaching a climax, harmonizing in the most wonderful and addictive way possible. 

One night, he breathes out an impromptu ‘I love you’ in the aftermath. A slip of tongue propelled by a high he still has trouble describing in tangible terms, a confession that’s reciprocated with a deep, open mouthed kiss from Dal-mi that envelops him completely. He’s never given himself so freely to someone like this. So wholly, flaws, insecurities and all. She made his guard, the one he’d spent years carefully reinforcing, cease to exist, in the scariest, yet most thrilling way. 

Dal-mi doesn’t respond to his confession. But, when she returns from the bathroom and he’s half asleep, unsure if his mind is playing tricks on him, Ji-pyeong thinks he hears her mumble against his bare shoulder, clinging to him as she did when they slept together, a barely perceptible, 

‘I’m falling in love with you too.’

He buys the ring on impulse, almost exactly at the two year mark of their official first date. With no plans to propose, he purchases it anyway. Because, it felt right. Inevitable, that a story as deeply rooted in destiny and timing, concepts he’d refuted vehemently before meeting her, before  loving her, deserved a perfect, wrapped in a bow, fairytale ending.

In a cruel twist of fate, it doesn't seem to matter what he wants. Nam Do-san returns three days later, and three years of what he now accepts as temporary bliss dissolve into oblivion.

** (viv.) **

Rarely did he allow himself to breakdown like this.

In his youth, he recalls crying only once, when Halmeoni sent him off to Seoul with sparkling new shoes and forgiveness he was most certainly unworthy of. As an adult, the range of people who had witnessed him at his most vulnerable broadened to exactly two individuals, Halmeoni, already a member of the exclusive club, and Dal-mi. 

He had disclosed to her the bad dreams he often experienced following his enforced departure from the orphanage, disgusted with himself for longing after a place that had cultivated the night terrors in the first place. Some of the nightmares occasionally followed him well into his latter years, regardless of how far he tried to leave bygones behind. With every kiss she laid on the tears that managed to escape his eyes, the shame slowly depleted into unfounded concerns. He felt safe. Cherished. Worth more than what he was equated to in the past, due to factors out of his control. 

It’s poetic in a way, that when he loses Dal-mi, he’s back at the start, crying in front of the first person he truly let see him for what he was, no holds barred.

“Halmeoni,” he manages to get out, “I don’t know what to do now.”

She loosens her embrace, leaning back to assess him blindly, hands finding there way to his face, cradling it, wiping away the moisture from his free falling tears like she’d always comforted him before, “You shouldn’t get used to being alone,” she says empathetically, “Don’t become lonelier, Ji-pyeong. Okay?”

He takes her words to heart. Throws himself into work, but makes time to foster the friendships he’s established with the people around him. The loneliness resurfaces from time to time, especially at night, where he’d grown accustomed to Dal-mi’s sleeping form tucked in snuggly beside him. When he finished a day’s worth of work and realized no one was there to accompany him for dinner, or during Saturdays where he now politely denies Dal-mi’s mother’s invitations to their regular weekly get togethers in favour of sparing everyone the unavoidable awkwardness that would arise upon his arrival.

_ “If you feel so bad, do something good for someone worse off than me.” _

With Halmeoni’s guidance, he personally invests in Kim Ji-seok’s outlandish, negative profit generating business venture for orphans seeking mentorship. Teenagers, on the precipice of adulthood, who were just like the Han Ji-pyeong of some twenty years ago, many of whom may not get as lucky as he did. 

Because, in a twisted way, he was lucky. He made the best of the bad fortune dealt out to him, and he fought for everything he possessed today. There was no denying his hard work or efforts.  But, had he not stumbled across the lone corn dog stand after getting kicked out of the only home he’d known his own life, would his future have turned out differently?

Did he want it to?

It occurs to him that there were missteps, things he wishes he could have done differently. And yet, if he could go back in time and erase everything, meeting Halmeoni, writing those letters to Dal-mi, leaving their lives and returning with a flourish, he doesn’t think he would. 

No regrets. Ji-pyeong had promised in a letter to Dal-mi to live a life with no regrets. Finding her, protecting her, revealing the truth, loving her. He realizes, with astonishing maturity, that he’d take none of it back.

It plays like a broken record, repeating continually, when he confronts Dal-mi for the first time since bumping into Nam Do-san in an elevator, Nam Do-san who was clearly still infatuated with the woman Ji-pyeong loved.

“What you had-“ he starts before correcting himself, “What you _have_ with  him, I don’t want to get in the middle of it. I’m not going to be that person.”

“So, that’s it?” Dal-mi counters, eyes surprisingly alight with thinly veiled rage, “You’re just going to walk away?”

“No,” Ji-pyeong snaps harshly, “I’m not that good of a person. I’ll get mad. I won’t be able to talk to you for a long time. I might even leave for a bit, somewhere overseas. Maybe it’ll be temporary. Or I won’t come back at all,” he softens when he observes her lip trembling, a precursor to an imminent meltdown as he’d learned while they were dating, “I could never hate you, Dal-mi. But, it hurts to love you. And, I can’t do it anymore if I’m the only one.”

He didn’t want to be happy without her. But, if it came down to it, he knew he eventually could. 

Not bothering to stick around for her response, anticipating one that would crush any false hopes still pathetically residing inside him into pieces, he walks away. 

His phone vibrates violently in his pocket. Trained to answer any and all calls during business hours, he answers it without looking at the caller ID, almost thankful for the distraction.

“Meet me on the roof.” Dal-mi rings out clearly, both over the phone, and as it echoes back in real time behind him. 

“You’ve got to be joking right now.”

“Roof. Five minutes,” comes the decisive reply, leaving no room for argument. He stares blankly at her retreating form, dealt with a choice he had no option but to deliberate on right now.

If he doesn’t follow her, he’ll always think about what would have happened if he did.

So, he traces her steps, upwards, towards the rooftop where she’d chosen him without hesitation. 

_ “I’ve never regretted a single choice in my life.” _

“What do you want, Dal-mi?”

“I wanted to call the first person I thought of when I needed help.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

”You said something to me once,” she calls out, “And you didn’t let me answer back.” 

_ I like you. _

_ I didn’t know I’d say something like this over noodles.  _

“I didn’t think you were ready to hear it.”

”I think I was then. I definitely am now,” a sharp intake of breath, then, ”I love you.”

The declaration is confident, not a trace of doubt present in the thin press of her lips, the fiery glint in her eye, as she slightly nods, as if to emphasize the words he still has trouble believing he heard correctly.

”I love you,” she repeats, one step closer, “I love everything about you. Your letters, the way you take care of me, of Halmeoni. How you kiss me first thing in the morning when you wake up and right before you fall asleep at night. Your honesty, your love-” she pauses, “It’s you. Because you’re you, and I’m me, and it just makes sense that somehow we’d end up finding our way back to each other, even if it took twenty years for it to happen.” 

There’s an outward force that’s managed to take possession over him. It’s like he’s nailed down to the ground, her words taking hold of his conscious free will. 

“I’m not who you thought I was, though,” he can’t help mentioning, “I don’t have his name, or his family.”

“But you do.” Her insistence, bridging on desperation, almost makes him a believer.

“You are him. Everything about you is the person from those letters. You’re not Nam Do-san, but you are  _him_ ,” she affirms, “And that’s the man I fell in love with, back then, and now. Not a faceless name, or a signature on a piece of paper.”

She continues, his lack of a response offering no hindrance in the face of her actions when she had her mind set on something.

Seo Dal-mi was nothing if not patient. Resilient. 

“You’ve always been the one to come to me,” Dal-mi bridges the remaining gap between them, two steps forward, less than a metre apart, giving him yet another choice, “Now, I want to be the one who comes to you. If you’ll let me.” 

“What-“

“I’m serious. If you walk away right now, it won’t change anything. I’ll still love you. I think I’ll always love you. But, if you don’t want this-”

He kisses her, knowing that in this moment, if he neglected to do so, his long-lived track record of no regrets would be unable to withstand it.

** (x.) **

Here’s what Ji-pyeong has realized.

There are things he’ll always know. Which of the up and coming unicorn start ups had it in them to survive the long haul, and how to differentiate between the former and passing fads that would become a hollow shell of the glory they once boasted. He’s found the perfect balance between a grounded in reality style of mentoring, plus a variation permitting flexibility in terms of new ideas and never before used strategies, all under strict guidelines, of course.

He’s learned the best methods to lull his hyper active daughter to sleep. Methods that had earned a maternal stamp of approval following discovery of his previously favourite trick, bribes in the form of candy and staying up late privileges, swiftly counteracted with a big fat no from his wife. 

The list of things he doesn’t know remains consistent. 

Seo Dal-mi, capital, block letters, bolded, and underlined. She was a never ending puzzle he didn’t want to figure out, one that he stopped bothering to resolve.

There were somethings in the world he was okay with not knowing. He stops dwelling on the paths he didn’t take, and focuses on the one he did. 

If it comes down to it, he knows he’ll be alright on his own.

But, as Dal-mi had declared unwaveringly, forehead pressed against his own, on the rooftop where she chose him one more time, he would never have to be again.

* * *

> _ ”All those letters, they were you... All those beautiful powerful words, they were you [...] You always loved me.” _

Cyrano de Bergerac

**Author's Note:**

> (Can u tell i gradually got tired of writing this towards the end lol)
> 
> So, I throughly enjoyed the show, despite its numerous misgivings in the latter half, all unrelated to the final couple btw. Tbh endgame doesn't hurt bc I was expecting it, and I liked NDS as a character. While i wasn't rooting for him and SDM as a couple, i dont think he's like satan or anything lol 
> 
> That being said, there was something left to be resolved here (letters, acknowledgement, did SDM know ANYTHING about HJP's past? Just one heartfelt conversation would have been nice). So, I said fk it and rewrote everything that came during and after the time skip because I can hahah 
> 
> But that's it for this drama from me! Happy, happy, happy holidays (!!), and thank you for all your kind words and feedback❤


End file.
